


Brwydr y Frenhines

by gingersnaptaff



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms, Welsh Mythology
Genre: Gen, Guinevere is a badass, I love Arthurian legends, I love her, This is based on the Welsh legends / the triads, This is in Guinevere’s POV, Which is the reason that the characters names are ten times harder to pronounce, back at it again with the welsh titles, i love Guinevere tbh, mordred is a bastard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 04:21:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19760485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingersnaptaff/pseuds/gingersnaptaff
Summary: Mordred taunts Guinevere after The Battle of Camlann and she gives as good as she gets in return.





	Brwydr y Frenhines

He prowled towards me, inhumanly bright blue eyes alert and filled with fire. There was a maniacal slash of a smile on his face and, as he came closer, I could recognise the rich scent of iron enveloping him in its stench. There was mud encrusted over his now bloodied armour and he set his sword down almost lovingly on the floor as he crouched down to see me.

“Do you know what it’s like?” He hissed, a small frown creasing his forehead as he spoke, “To be born a bastard? To see your own father treat his knights better than his own son? To see him flaunt his power over your mother, over his first love? Have any idea what that’s like, my lady? It destroys you. I’m grateful to your sister for allowing me to marry her then, Gwyn. Perhaps I should address you as sister now? Or would you prefer step-mother?”

“You’re mad.” I whispered. A cold chill ran down my spine and I shivered in my chains. “You can’t be Arthur’s son. H- he would have told me, I’m sure. I knew my husband. I knew your supposed father, Medrawd, you _scum_.”

The young man laughed. “Your words wound me, my lady. Just as you wounded my wife with your fists.”

“She deserved it,” I hissed, noting the way that he gritted his teeth at my answer, the way his breathing became noticeably faster, as though he was trying to calm himself so as not to strike me. “By the Gods you both did. Fach deserved every slap she got.”

“Just as you husband’s Camelot’s pathetic tin soldiers deserved every slash and cut of my army’s swords. Your husband squealed like a boar when he died, I’m ashamed to say. I did so hope he would have had a regal end like how my mother had told me to enact. Perhaps you might do me the honour instead? I have just breached your kingdom’s defences after all and, since I have no need for a wife now that I have your sister, I’m sure your death will suffice instead. I am sure Fach will be pleased. Who knows, if I’m lucky, your death might even send Myrddin out of hiding. Is he taming dragons again, I wonder? He was always so foolish in that respect.”

“Watch your tone, boy.” I said, trying to ignore the way my voice waivered.

Had Medrawd noticed the tears that pooled by my eyes? Had he noticed the way that I trembled again as though a sickness had come upon me?

“Ah, forgive me. I had forgotten that you _are_ still the ruler of this land. Of course. I suspect that you’ll punish me just as soon as you can get out of your chains then, hmm? Don’t worry, Gwyn, I’ll wait for you. Fach always says that I’m good in that regard.”

The smirk that he had worn all throughout our conversation was still attached to his face as he stood up, his armour clinking, singing mockingly like caged birds. He picked up the sword with him, the air of carefulness upon him again like a mask, and his eyes shone for a brief moment with childlike curiosity.

“Don’t trouble yourself getting up, my lady. Although I do think the chains might prevent that, don’t you? Tell me, one last thing before I depart, do you think this sword suits me?”

He took a step into the torchlight that was offering up a scant glow and doing little in way of affording me light with how far away the turncoat guards had placed it from my cell and held out the sword for me to observe. The metal of the blade and cross guard was dull, covered in the mud of a battlefield, blood encrusting the groove down the centre, tracks of rusty red dribbling down it adding to the morbid sight. The hilt was covered in blood also, although the pommel was still free of mess, enough for the shimmer of gold to shine through. The raised carvings, crafted out of silver that adorned it were slightly rusted from water damage and the grip itself was worn, the once shiny black leather faded with age was coming away at the edges. With a jolt of recognition - and I knew that Medrawd could tell that I recognised the sword for he gave out a small, gleeful laugh as I did - I sprang forward, flying off the bed, chains rattling with taunts.

I wanted to remain calm, to be the dignified queen that I was always told to be but I could not stop myself. As I answered the callous and cruel boy in front of me, with his eyes alight in enjoyment of my grief, I broke down, my queenly mask slipping off and crashing to the floor.

“I – You  bastard !” There was a tightness in my chest as I fought to control my breathing, hearing it hitch in my ears as tears rolled down my cheeks. I tried to throw myself at him, forgetting the chains attached to my arms, attached to my feet and stumbled, only regaining my balance in the last second.

“You’re hysterical, my lady.” Medrawd’s tone was like that a physician would use. Honeyed with a warmth that was as deceitful as he was. He looked at me the way a mother would a simpering child and I wanted to curse him in frustration. Instead I spat, enjoying the yell of disgust that my action greeted me with.

“You bitch!” He roared, eyes bulging with rage.

I laughed, trying to hide my smirk at his reaction. “My apologies, my lord,” my voice dripped with mocking sweetness, “I’m afraid I don’t quite know what came over me. Would you like me to curtsey instead? Only I thought that you might like some water to clean your sword with. Forgive me if my actions were misconstrued. My chains prevent me from giving you a bowl.”

Medrawd huffed in response, wiping my gift away with a muddied gauntlet and turned to leave, walking to the dungeon door. He turned back offering me an icy glare, before extinguishing the torches and leaving me, his footsteps loud upon the stone floor.


End file.
